He walked to her office off the kitchen. The day’s mail lay on her desk, unopened.

He found her in their bedroom, lying on top of the comforter, her clothes still on, the lights off. The curtains were open. The setting sun shone through the French doors that led to the patio.

“Rose?”

She didn’t move.

Elliott sat on the edge of the bed and gripped her hand, feeling her pulse with his finger. She was burning up, her heartbeat rapid. He held the back of his hand to her forehead. Definitely running a fever.

She opened her eyes and, upon seeing Elliott, instantly grew worried. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

“Oh, no, I must’ve fallen asleep.”

She pushed up on trembling arms, coughed, and fell back to the bed, reaching for the tissue box on the nightstand. Elliott heard the congestion in her chest as she coughed violently into a tissue. There were plenty more used tissues in the wastebasket beside the bed.

“When did you start feeling sick?” he asked.

“Shortly after you left this morning. It’s nothing. I’ve got to get dinner ready.”

Elliott felt her neck. Her lymph nodes were swollen; her body was fighting an infection.

She sneezed into the tissue, then sneezed again. Elliott brought the box closer, leaving it next to her in the bed.

“No, Rose. You’re going to stay in bed, and I’m going to fix dinner.”

She studied him skeptically.

“Okay. I’m going to pick up dinner.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand.

He helped her out of her clothes and under the covers, then went into the bathroom to search the medicine cabinet. All the cold and flu tablets had long since expired. He found a bag of zinc lozenges and returned to the bedside with them.

“Stay in bed, honey. Try these—they’ll help. I’ll go get dinner and some cold medicine. Be back soon.”

Elliott ate a small snack to soak up some of the alcohol, then turned the oven off and moved the uncooked food to the refrigerator. Completing Rose’s cooking was above his pay grade; a few hot trays from Whole Foods were his usual fare when she was out of town. That would have to do for tonight.

The drugstore parking lot was filled to capacity; Elliott actually had to wait for a spot. The scene inside took him aback. People filled the aisles and argued at the checkout line.

What’s happening here?

He went to the aisle that held the cold and flu medicine, but the shelves were utterly bare. Every last box and bottle of medicine was gone.

There was a commotion at the back of the drugstore, near the pharmacy desk.

“My kid is sick—”

“When will you get more—”

A pharmacy tech strode past the dropoff window and met Elliott’s eyes.

“Excuse me,” Elliott said. “Do you have any cold medicine left?”